


Arrows Of Paris

by tielan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Civil War (Marvel), F/M, Maria Hill In Civil War, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Past Relationship(s), Smut, so much for my happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:44:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bucky’s your Achilles' Heel, Steve.” Her expression is carefully neutral, a dispassionate blank. “He unbalances the situation. As such, I’ve undertaken to remove him from the equation."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arrows Of Paris

**Author's Note:**

> This was started because of the Porn Battle Amnesty Prompt Stack a couple of weeks ago. However, I have no idea of the original prompt.

Steve doesn’t regret ending it – just how it ended.

* * *

_He only takes a sip of her mouth, because he’d really liked to gulp her down whole, and she should be savoured._

_Assuming she doesn’t kick his ass into next week._

* * *

“Hill sided with Stark?” Sam shakes his head. “That’s harsh. I figured her smarter than that.”

Scott Lang looks up from the scrolling news reports. “Hill? The Hardass Hill that everyone talks about? I’d have thought she was a natural for Registration.”

Steve knows he has control of his expression as he looks at Sam. “She made her choice,” he says.

* * *

“ _This is such a bad idea,” she murmurs into his mouth as her fingertips scrape up his sides and take his t-shirt with it._

_Steve doesn’t disagree, but he also makes sure not to let her up for enough breath to protest again._

* * *

Sharon is interesting, and interested, and there, and willing.

Steve avoids meeting Wanda’s gaze – it’s just a couple of kisses, after all. Bucky doesn’t know. And Barton’s eyeball is _extremely_ hairy when it lands on Steve, but he has more to say about Natasha’s defection than Hill.

Sam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.

* * *

_Her fingers flex on his scalp as he slides his tongue through her cleft and she bites back a moan. She’s not trying to control him, he knows, she’s trying to control herself._

“ _Don’t fight it,” he tells her, his lips just brushing the tender hood of her clitoris, “Let go, Maria.”_

* * *

There’s no sign of her in the crowds or the comms chatter; Stark’s people are co-ordinated but without the kind of organised precision Steve would expect to see if she was managing things behind the scenes.

He wants to smack Tony over the head for being an idiot; for making him do this, for forcing the issue. He wants to shake Tony and demand what he thinks handing Bucky over will do in the scheme of things, where they’re supposed to go if they can’t trust their own, why he had to make this a war.

And a part of Steve wants everything to go back to the way it was.

He knows it never can.

* * *

_He sucks in a breath as she sucks him into the warm, wet hollow of her mouth. It’s not the first time he’s had a blowjob; but this is different._

_Maria fellates him with the same focus she gives to planning missions and shooting her enemies, and that intensity is several orders of magnitude hotter than the fact she’s sucking on his dick._

* * *

The image lingers in his head: a dress in wine scarlet, a billionaire’s ransom in jewelry, and her hand just about to accept the young Senator’s assistance down the stairs. She didn’t look like a spy, like an agent, like _Maria_. She looked like a princess, smiling at a prince before the snap-happy crowds.

She looked like a woman who’d put her past behind and firmly closed the door on a relationship that was all kinds of inappropriate.

Sam leans against the door of the gym where Steve is beating up on all the things he can’t fight with his fists. “Call came,” he says without comment on Steve’s choice of therapy. “We riding out?”

* * *

_He wakes her with a kiss because he wants to and he can. And because he so rarely gets to see her relaxed like this._

_Her mouth moves under his, soft and slow as so few things with this woman are. “Good morning.”_

“ _Yeah,” he murmurs, as her lashes flutter. “It is.”_

* * *

They regroup at the safehouse, exhausted, injured, demoralised. And, in Steve’s case, angry.

“I swear he was right behind me.” Sharon’s face is tight, her expression tense with controlled frustration. “He told me to run, that he’d lay down cover fire. I heard him shooting, but he never came out.”

 _And you didn’t go back for him?_ Steve wants to demand. He doesn’t. Because Bucky can look after himself, without Steve watching his back, and the fact that he didn’t meet and the rendesvous point – that he covered for Sharon without following her out – says that whatever got him, it was big and bad.

“All right,” he says after a moment.

* * *

_Maria rouses with the phone call of course, turning over to watch him take the call, but saying nothing until he hangs up._

“ _Sam?”_

“ _Yes.” And Bucky, but Steve can’t tell her that; not yet, not until he’s sure. Instead, he leans over to kiss her, mouth on mouth. “You don’t have to get up. I’m not going to kick you out.”_

_He hopes she stayed through to the morning; but he suspects she didn’t._

* * *

The Quinjet heading for the mountain turns out to be a decoy.

“There’s nothing in the logs,” Sharon says as Barton flies them back to base, the Quinjet pilots having allowed themselves to be taken prisoner. “If they know where Bucky was taken, it’ll be in their heads.”

Steve looks at Wanda, a silent request for her to ‘read’ the two women sitting in the hold.

The young woman’s lashes flutter down, not quite closed as she uses her psychic powers. “Neither of them know anything useful.”

The younger of the pilots snorts, the bones of her face sharp and mocking. “Like Hill would send someone with intel when there’s a psychic involved.”

* * *

_They fuck like they’re waging war – maybe they always have and just never noticed it until now._

_She bites his lip as she comes, drawing blood as he shoves her ruthlessly over the edge again and again and again._

_He leaves teeth marks on her shoulders, hickeys all over her breasts, finger bruises on her hips and wishes that the welts she’s raking down his shoulders would stay longer than a couple of hours before healing, as though they’d never touched._

* * *

The message is simple enough, for all that it tears up his soul.

“Bucky’s your Achilles' Heel, Steve.” Her expression is carefully neutral, a dispassionate blank. “He unbalances the situation. As such, I’ve undertaken to remove him from the equation. You can keep chasing ghosts if you want; after the last year, you should be used to that, but you won’t find him now, any more than you found him then. Deal with Registration, or don’t. But Bucky doesn’t factor into this anymore; you’ll have to make the decision on your own.”

The recording is recent – seventeen hours ago – and they haven’t managed to find the point of origin yet. Not that it matters; Maria doesn’t make empty threats.

After the fourth replay, Steve’s still not sure if he hates her or himself more.

* * *

_Steve Rogers has always known he’d carry the scars of Maria Hill long after the marks he left on her skin faded._

**fin**

 


End file.
